


The Mission

by writerfan2013



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerfan2013/pseuds/writerfan2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a mission and it involves Janine. He has a straightforward plan. This is just work. Sherlock/Janine, after S3E2. Oneshot, after I wondered just how fake their fake relationship was. And what it would be like to be seriously romanced by Sherlock, ahem. -Sef</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mission

He was having second thoughts about her. They had shared some light-hearted moments, she found him amusing as well as handsome, and she was beautiful enough for any liaison not to be a chore.

He scored himself somewhere in the middle of the physical attraction scale. Janine was around the same, possibly a little higher, but that was cancelled out by his brilliance and fame. She had no reason to refuse any offer he might make.

Yes. Perhaps she would be his girlfriend. Would it be a serious thing? It was too early to tell. A lot depended on her.

He couldn't wait to see John's face.

* * *

"Oh my god it's him." Janine blinked at her phone, and the brusque message on it.

"Who?" Janine's colleague Karen looked up from her filing.

"Sherlock!" She already thought of him on first name terms. After all that wedding practice, all that tedium of dress fittings and having to be precisely on time to every pre wedding item on his long list of preparations, she certainly felt entitled to.

"The detective."

"Yes." Janine scrolled through his message. Dinner. A restaurant she would never be able to get into normally. Suggestion of a pleasant evening in each other's company. Humorous reference to her dancing. Arrogant swine.

She could just picture him smirking as he typed the message. Who asks for a date by text?

A date!

Of course, he was busy. He lived on that phone. And, being him, that was to say, weird, he probably thought it was completely fine to ask her out by text message. He existed in his own world and conventions did not so much as register with him.

If he'd been scruffy and unwashed he was sufficiently strange that people would recoil. But he was clean, beautifully dressed, and not bad looking.

"Are you going to go?" Karen asked.

Janine favoured her with a pitying stare. "It's Sherlock Holmes. He's the most famous detective in the world and he's buying me dinner at the Ivy. Of course I'm going to go."

Karen was watching her. "I'll text him back later," Janine said, stuffing her phone in her bag. "Come on, back to the grindstone."

Later, in the loos, she messaged Sherlock back.  _Thought you weren't interested. And now dinner?_

She held her breath, and gratifyingly he replied immediately.

_I have been thinking about you a great deal. SH_

She could not suppress a grin. Every journalist in the CAM Global News building - hell, every journalist in London was convinced Sherlock Holmes was gay, and shacked up with John Watson, or now, given that John was married, shacked up in a sordid _menage a trois_ with John and Mary, emphasis on John. But she, Janine, had connected with the spiky and difficult Sherlock, and now they were going on a date.

_Wicked thoughts I hope. What time are you picking me up?_

* * *

He knew what to do. Of course. Starting a relationship was easy. What followed was the trickier part, but for tonight, pure convention, plus a few suitably esoteric touches, was all that would be required.

Taxi, exactly on time.

Flowers for Janine - a flower to be exact, a single freesia bloom, no giant bouquet she would have to lug round all night. He pinned it on her coat as she stood open mouthed at his unexpected gallantry.

Back in the taxi and straight round to the restaurant. He had considered arranging a route past something impressive, a fireworks display from an antique steamer on the Thames, perhaps - but then retreated from such grandstanding. Too desperate-seeming. Anyway, best to save something for the second date.

Concierge greeting - pleasing familiarity with Sherlock, and equally pleasing reaction to this from Janine.

Ushered to table where an ice bucket awaited them. "Champagne all right?"

Of course it was all right. She looked totally overawed.

He ordered for both of them - remembering to consult her first to make sure that this was acceptable, and that she did not pretend to any inconvenient allergies.

The food was excellent although he barely touched his. She wolfed hers down. A woman who liked to eat.

He flashed momentarily on the person who had been so persistent about dinner. He shook it off. That person was far away and officially dead. Janine was here, definitely alive, and possibly crucial.

"Phone call, Mr Holmes."

As arranged.

He took the call - it was actually a phone on a little trolley wheeled to their table, a perfect nostalgic touch - and answered in brusque code. "French prime minister," he said casually to Janine as the telephone trolley squeaked away.

Her eyes were wide.

"Bit of a bore but owes me a favour."

He smiled then and reached across the white linen to take her hand. "Sorry. Work. I'm never off duty, I'm afraid."

"That's ok," she whispered as he stroked her palm with his thumb.

Good. It was working.

"So," he said, progressingly easily to stage five of the plan, "tell me about your day. I want every detail." Another warm smile. "You know I am a stickler for the details."

* * *

A taxi home and as she got in, he took her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was easy, it had all been easy. Stages six through twelve had been completed and all that remained was to cement their budding relationship and agree on a second date.

She was tolerable company. Perhaps this business might not be all work after all.

He wondered if perhaps he was a little drunk.

At her place he got out, but asked the taxi to wait.

"You're not coming up for coffee, then," she said.

He smiled. "I don't think sex after one date is a good idea," he said.

"You're making some assumptions, mister."

"Deductions," he told her. "You've spritzed perfume in your cleavage and ...thighs. You're clearly thinking we would go to bed."

"Huh." Dammit he was right.

"Not tonight," he said. "We can save it," and he kissed her cheek.

"No way," she said, and grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. "You don't get to disappear with just a peck."

He laughed and folded her into his arms. "Your blend of aggression and outrage is very tempting."

"Don't laugh at me, you. You've been smouldering at me all night."

He bent to kiss her gently on the lips. "I have."

She lifted her face to his.

"The taxi is waiting."

"He can wait one more minute."

There was a moment in which their eye contact sizzled. He flinched. She knew. She definitely knew. For a second he hesitated. Abandon mission?

But then she smirked, and he realised that although she might have guessed his motives, she didn't care. She was in it for the ...fun.

Not a terrible concept. Fun.

"Well?" she said with her customary directness.

"All right." And he kissed her, and waved the taxi away.

 


End file.
